An Expedition to Mount Washington’s
Great Gulf:
Being Both a Regaling of a Fine Backcountry Ski Experience, But
Also a Cautionary Tale for Similarly Inclined Skiers
By Jonathan Shefftz
(as composed on United flight 772
returning from a final May Lake Tahoe trip)
For those of you who were blessed this year with a winter
other than my native New England’s, a recap of our sad season
is in order. Above all, the main characteristic was consistency:
sandwiched in betwixt a freak northern snowfall in mid-November
and then again in mid-April, our “winter” started out
horribly mild, tried to redeem itself with a very respectable
stretch of cold weather from the second week in January through
the beginning of President's Week (capped off with a superb storm),
then signaled the return to mildness with a brutal meltdown halfway
through President's Week. Against this depressing background,
the e-mail to the Appalachian Mountain Club ski list serve from
Nick Branch arrived like a clarion call to arms: “seeking
tele & at skiers for a spring expedition ... lesser-known
aspects of Mt. Washington ... able to ski 45-degree pitches with
a pack ... hike up to 5,000 vertical per day.” I hit the
reply icon faster than an Andrew McLean hop turn in a tight couloir
and marked the weekend of April 29/30 on my calendar.
Over the ensuing month as I ticked off the days, the continued
warm weather implanted doubts. During the final week, about half
a foot of snow fell on Mt. Washington, but this also upped the
avalanche forecast from low to medium. Plus all my ski buddies
dropped out (Dana the New Dad, Aaron the Unready, Mark the Unmentioned
Excuse), as did all the previously interested AMC members. My
fiancee, a fellow backcountry skier, but not of the 45-degree
variety, also implanted doubts:
“So it’s just you and Nick?”
“Yes, we’re the only ones sufficiently dedicated!”
“And how do you know him again?”
“He sent an e-mail to the AMC list.”
“And does he know what he’s doing?”
“Well, yes, otherwise he wouldn’t organize such a trip.”
“Is Great Gulf even skiable?”
“Sure, the new Goodman
book says it is ... or so I’ve heard, since we have
only the old edition.”
“Why are you not dismissing my concerns as confidently as
you usually do?”
“Well ...”
“I don’t want to be a widow.”
“Don’t worry, that can’t happen since we’re
not married yet.”
[Important note to fellow engaged men: fiancees find this response
neither clever, amusing, nor reassuring.]
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Leaving Boston early Saturday morning under sunny skies
and room temperatures made me wonder whether I shouldn’t
be mountain biking or playing tennis instead, but Franconia Notch
provided some encouragement in the form of snow by the roadside
and some apparently post-closing ski tracks on Cannon Mountain’s
slopes. Nick was of course totally cool (what other kind of person
would organize such a trip), and we set off from the 2,700’
Cog Railway base station. The already operating Cog provided
an incongruously Disney-like aura for our departure (backpacks
are even banned from the indoor facilities) and the tourists
gawked at our skis as we gingerly stepped across the track and
onto the Jewell Trail. |
"Am I really at the base of Mt. Washington, or did
I end up by mistake on Boston’s green line trolley?"
Photo from www.thecog.com.
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The first third of the trail at this time of year had only
occasional small patches of snow, and is a typical steep, rocky,
and twisty New England hiking trail (i.e., generally unskiable
and unskinnable), while the next third had more consistent and
deeper snow on a more gradual and straight layout, whereas the
final third had a deep snowpack on a very gentle and straight
ascent. The Jewell Trail is otherwise distinguished by the excellent
views it provides after only a short amount of elevation gain.
Nick Branch, towering above
the lack-of-snowfields
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We poked above timberline to arrive at Mt. Washington’s
upper snowfields near the Burt Ravine -- or rather, the more
aptly named lack-of-snowfields, by now generally a mixture of
rock, alpine vegetation, and small snow deposits. Nick regaled
me with wistful tales of yo-yo skiing these snowfields at the
same time of year several seasons past, while we zigzagged up
past the cairns and the lone hiker we were to see that day. |
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We also took note of our return bearing as we headed toward
Mt. Clay, since bad weather on the descent could easily stymie
locating the Jewell trailhead. (Although the trail descends below
treeline along a pronounced ridgeline, several such ridgelines
descend from the upper snowfields, and an incorrect initial direction
could lead to bushwhacking and/or the wrong drainage altogether.) |
We finally reached the top of the snowfield. “So where
exactly is the summit of Mt. Clay,” I asked. “You’re
standing on it,” he replied. At about 5,500’, Mt. Clay
sounds impressive, but is really just an almost imperceptible
bump along the ridgeline gradually descending from the 6,288’
Mt. Washington summit. Nick consulted his ski route maps and
scouted about to locate the “Pipeline” gully, or anything
else that might be skiable. “I hope we haven’t come
all this way just for the view,” he lamented, and I concurred
. . . but oh what a view! If we were to have slogged up in ski
boots with skis lashed to our packs only for a view, then at
least we had chosen our view wisely.
A view worth hiking for, not to mention skiing into
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Great Gulf makes Tuckerman Ravine look almost civilized
by comparison. But for the distant view of the Mt. Washington
summit structures in the background, Great Gulf presents the
raw, untamed side of Mt. Washington. I felt as if it sat there
brooding on its haunches, indifferent to being overshadowed (figuratively,
not literally) by the more famous Tucks, since Great Gulf knew
that IT was the greatest glacial cirque; it mattered not whether
anyone else acknowledged its greatness.
Most of the countless couloirs spiraling down Great Gulf’s
heights into its seemingly bottomless depths appeared unskiably
steep, with only small patches of snow desperately clinging to
sheer rock faces. A sizable stretch of skiable snow did grace
the Airplane gully (named after a 1990 airplane crash that took
Mt. Washington
victims #105-107 ) . But in these low-snow conditions a skilled
rappelled descent would have been necessary to reach the snow,
and in high-snow conditions the cornice danger must be formidable.
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“I think this is it,” Nick exclaimed with
a mixture of confidence and hope, breaking me away from Great
Gulf’s hypnotic gaze. Standing on Great Gulf’s rim
already felt mildly sacrilegious, and skiing *into* Great Gulf
seemed tantamount to violating this massive formation’s
brooding isolation. We were on top of a 50’ vertical patch
of 35-degree corn snow, after which was . . . well, we’d
just have to ski down to discover exactly what lay in wait beneath
the drop-off and around the corner. After a two-ski-length wide
chute, we discovered another 50’ or so stretch, and so the
pattern continued. Despite the “Pipeline” moniker,
and maybe because of the low-snow conditions, the skiable line
was anything but a straight shot. The pitch was fairly consistent
between 35 and 45 degrees (as Nick would later measure on the
ascent back up), but we zigged and zagged back and forth, never
sure if the upcoming section (ranging from a few-ski-lengths
wide to a more normal, narrow trail) would still be skiable.
A few inches of unconsolidated snow lay on top of a firm corn
base, and I would start each section with a quick sideslip, an
edge check to start off a micro-sized wet snow slide would then
smooth out the skiable surface, and also minimize the snow that
came down with us when we skied.
After about 900’ vertical feet of this exciting and
challenging terrain, the pitch appeared to continue for quite
some distance, but the next section was only one ski-length wide.
More importantly, the generally inconsequential water that had
been following us down the gully appeared to gather force up
ahead, meaning that all of the upcoming snow was probably horribly
undermined. This was clearly the place to stop. |
Above: Nick’s first turns into Great Gulf Lower:
Nick skiing down to Jonathan to find out what lays in wait around
the corner.
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Some alpine vegetation provided a relatively stable base
to pop off our skis, strap them onto our packs, and fix crampons
for the climb. I quickly discovered that climbing up 900 vert
of a 35- to 45-degree pitch is psychologically much easier when
the goal is merely to access some fun skiing, as opposed to a
return to civilization. A few rock outcroppings provides some
nice resting spots though. Also, the snow was generally almost
perfect for climbing: not too firm to make the grip too slick,
not too soft so as to sink in, and not too bad for balling up
either.
Nevertheless, the relative monotony of climbing provided
some moments for reflection. Everything had gone well so far,
but *what if* something -- anything -- had *not* gone well? Great
Gulf is exceedingly remote, and even if help could be found,
that help would have a difficult time extricating anyone from
here. And given the nature of the terrain, many things could
go wrong. |
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Fortunately, we soon found ourselves back on Mt.
Clay’s summit, where a few flakes of snow fell, perhaps
a reminder from Great Gulf that although it had decided to grace
us with warm and calm air that day, we were still at its fickle
mercy.
We descended back down through the lack-of-snowfields,
after which I “skied” the upper third of the Jewell
trail. Given its width (or lack thereof), and the heavy loose
snow, this was mainly just survival snowplowing, which Nick quickly
decided to forego in favor of down-hiking. We arrived at the
Cog base station long after the tourists had departed, the parking
lot now taken over by fellow hikers. We basked in the exhaustion
of a great expedition amidst the waning rays of the sun.
The next day I linked up with a friend of Nick’s for
a “little” outing to the Gulf of Slides, which started
to seem almost quaint and crowded (four other people) by comparison.
This trip -- plus a few troubled nights of sleep the next couple
days -- made me ponder a bit more the dangers of Great Gulf.
My cautionary notes might be easy for some to dismiss, since
after all, we had a fine time and nothing went wrong. The Goodman
book also seems to describe Great Gulf as just a bit more off
the beaten path, which I feel does not sufficiently emphasize
what an order-of-magnitude different this is from skiing Tuckerman
Ravine, or even Gulf of Slides. |
Above: Jonathan takes a snack break at the top of Mt. Clay.
Below: On skis, on a trail, it must then be a ski trail, right?
 |
I do intend to return someday to Great Gulf, but a party
size of only two is a bit too risky in retrospect, and I plan
to have more mountaineering skills and snowpack evaluation experience
by then. If you go, have fun, be careful, but remember the reason
that only one skier has died in Great Gulf (Edwin Costa, age
40, victim #104
of Mt. Washington, June 3, 1990) is that so few venture there.
Editor's Note: Thanks to Jonathan
Shefftz for the great story. All the photographs are by Jonathan
too, with the exception of the one of him taken by Nick Branch.
Jonathan is an AT skier but we still like him, someday we will
talk JS into seeing the light!
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